


In Exile

by jaguarssoul



Category: Game of Thrones (Video Game 2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6962890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaguarssoul/pseuds/jaguarssoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a seventeen years old, Asher Forrester was banished from his home because he fell in love with the ''wrong girl''. Within four years, he managed to get quite the hang of the continent he was banished to, however things didn't run very smoothly at the very beginning. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Exile

‘’All right fellas, welcome to Essos’’, an old, fat man with rags for clothing roared over the sound of gulls as waves gently splashed against the wooden harbors. His cargo, a bunch of travelers exhausted from the long journey across what they call the Narrow Sea, now got up with anticipation hidden underneath their voices. Some were not that excited, however, and one figure in particular only got up with reluctance in his moves. He narrowed his eyes against the sunlight as he judged the havens in the horizon while cursing the blinding, headache-inducing rays that he was not accustomed to all the while.

‘’We’ve arrived at last’’, one of his traveling companions had sighed in relief. ‘’I’m sick of being trapped on this damned ship. I can’t wait to stretch me legs for once!’’

‘’Shut your mouth, Gilbert’’, someone else snapped in good humor, just as impatient to feel solid ground underneath his feet. ‘’At least you haven’t had someone else throw up on your lap the entire time!’’

‘’Hey! That wasn’t my fault; the sea is simply not where a man should be at!’’

‘’Nothing is ever your fault, now is it?’’

As the two went on arguing about everything and nothing, the young boy pushed his way past his fellow travelers to the edge of the ship, to have a better look at what would be his new home. On one of the many ports, a couple lads were preparing ropes to keep the ship at bay, and elsewhere were merchants, strays and everyone in between going up and about.

‘’You’ll be fine’’, someone suddenly said from behind, catching the boy off-guard. Looking up, he saw that same traveling companion walking towards him. Leaning over the ship next to the boy, he said: ‘’So, what are you planning to do next? You’ll be on your own from now on.’’

‘’Feels like I’ve always been.’’ The boy sighed.

‘’Listen Asher. You’re no ordinary man. You can survive out there, I can promise you that much-’’

‘’Thanks, Gilbert’’, Asher said with a smile, however he didn’t want to hear anything else of it.

Gilbert, along with nine other elite soldiers, was accompanying Asher during his journey to Essos, a continent much different than his homeland Westeros. There was no king here, nor wardens or other lords of lesser, yet just as noble houses.

_Nobility…_ The word made Asher scowl. Nobility was dead in Westeros, he thought. His very own lord father, Gregor Forrester, had exiled him to this wretched alien place just because he had a foolish, childish affaire with the daughter of Gregor’s sworn rival and enemy, Ludd Whitehill.

_Maybe he was waiting for an excuse to get rid of you_ , said a voice in his head.

‘’What I’m trying to say is,’’ Gilbert went on, having not noticed Asher’s reluctance to talk, ‘’Lord Whitehill would have had your head if Lord Forrester didn’t… do this. Trust me, it’s his way of protecting you.’’

At that point, Asher would have wanted nothing more than to take out his blade and pierce it in the chest of whoever dared to talk to him next. Instead, he just kept silent.

A week had passed since Asher and his father’s chosen men had arrived at Essos. They had seen to it that he was settled in well, and a small living space was bought with Gregor’s coin, too.

_He intends you to stay here, and never show your face at Ironrath again_. Asher shook his head clear. He didn’t need his self-loath to pester his conscious, as if the reality of his situation wasn’t enough already. He walked over to his chest made of ironwood, and opened it. In it were all his clothing, most of them made for colder weather.

_I’m going to need to make a couple changes with what I’ve got_ , Asher decided. Taking out a knife, he chose a shirt he liked the most, and cut the sleeves off it. His father’s men had finally left that morning, and Asher was determined to drink to it.

That very same night, Asher went out of his small apartment, and walked over to a nearby alehouse with a small pocket of silver coins. If he were to survive here, then he’d need to make a couple acquaintances. A couple friends. They could see to it that he got a job to earn his bread with, and everything would be fine.

Or so he thought.

Arriving at the alehouse, Asher saw nothing but barbarian men. Scarred, tattooed, scary. He began to feel very uneasy.

_This is not where I belong_ , Asher realized with a hint of panic, suddenly conscious of his youthful, unscarred skin and the still growing blond stubbles on his chin and cheeks. He was about to walk out when suddenly someone patted him on the shoulder from behind.

‘’Where’re you headed at, Westerosi?’’, a stranger with a heavy, husky voice said in a mocking manner, laughing as he noticed Asher’s nervous expression and tense body language. ‘’Hey, Zahr! Look what we’ve got here!’’

Asher eyed the crowd. Most of the people were minding their own businesses despite what was happening, probably already used to young cubs such as Asher wandering in lions’ dens by accident. They heeded no attention to the stranger’s roar at all, except for one.

A man who could only have been called Zahr snickered. ‘’What a pretty little thing! Bring him over, would ya?’’

With that, Asher was pushed forward and away from the exit. ‘’Hey, let me go!’’, he scowled and shrugged off the stranger’s hand.

Big mistake. The stranger now grabbed Asher by the arm, with a hand as big as his entire face. ‘’You come along now, boy’’, he growled in that same, sinister husky voice. Asher swallowed.

Y _our father’s men have barely left Essos, and already you are in trouble_.

‘’Calm down, child’’, the man called Zahr said. The calmness in his voice scared Asher the more. He gestured to a seat across the small table, and the stranger with the big hands seated Asher on it. The crowd still didn’t pay any attention to them.

‘’It’s not often that we see a youngling from Westeros here. Seems like you’ve worked yourself into quite some trouble back at home, didn’t you?’’, Zahr said.

‘’What about it’’, Asher retorted, determined not to show his fear.

Zahr smiled. ‘’Nothing, really. Just that pretty little boys such as yourself never come here with empty pockets.’’

Asher understood. _Thieves…_

He smiled that very same smile that often times got him in trouble back at home. No, back in Westeros.

‘’Suck my cock, and I might pay you a good price for it’’, he said, grinning at how clever his reply was.

Zahr didn’t seem to find it a bit funny, however. One second he was glaring daggers at Asher, the next Asher found himself on the floor, his jaw hurting from a well-aimed punch. The crowd turned to look at what was happening at last. Except maybe for the bartender.

‘’Search his fucking pockets!’’, Zahr commanded the stranger.

His self-loath seemed to be almost snickering now. Asher was used to getting himself in trouble, but there was always his lord father to drag him out of such situations. And back at Ironrath, no one questioned Gregor’s authority. Asher had many times realized that if it wasn’t for Gregor, he might have led himself to an early death.

But he was not at Ironrath anymore, nor was his father here to protect him from his own stupidity any longer.

Asher sickly thought of whether it was better to give up on his coins- risking running out of them entirely and being forced to steal his next supper like a stray- or whether he should put up a fight, and probably end up getting himself killed. His self-loath seemed to be laughing now.

_That’s a first, seeing you use your head while you still have it_.

Big hands were searching his pockets and belt, and eventually pulled out what they were looking for. Asher scowled.

‘’That wasn’t so hard now was it?’’, Zahr asked mockingly. The stranger laughed.

‘’He’s more obedient than any whore I’ve had before; we might as well fuck him while we’re at it!’’

‘’We might do just that…’’, Zahr replied, the expression on his face darkening.

Asher bared his teeth as he got up quickly, nearly tripping himself as he did so in a rush of adrenaline. ‘’Fuck yourselves if you’re so desperate!’’, he yelled, pulling out his dagger that he had brought with him just in case. Zahr could only smile sadly, and unsheathed a longer, deadlier blade of his own. The stranger pulled out a warhammer himself.

_Well shit_. The rush of adrenaline disappeared like snow before sunshine, and instead Asher felt only fear and dread. What was he even thinking? He was but a highborn, green boy that had known nothing except for a life of comfort under his lord father’s wing. He and Gregor rarely saw eye to eye, but the Lord of Ironrath sure did know how to keep his son alive. Asher came to understand that at last.

Others in the room had immediately begun to grow restless with anticipation and excitement at the sight of a bloody fight about to break loose. That frightened Asher the more.

The stranger advanced first. He raised his warhammer and aimed at where Asher stood. He was slow, however, and Asher quickly dodged the blow. The crowd cheered.

Fully focused on the stranger, Asher did not see Zahr striking at him from the other side. He barely saved his neck when the stranger rose up his warhammer again and aimed a misplaced blow on Asher’s back.

Misplaced or not, a warhammer was still a weapon forged to hurt, and did well enough to see Asher on the floor, dagger dropping from his hand. Asher tried to get up quickly, but his lower back hurt too much, and he couldn’t seem to stop coughing either.

He could hear nothing but laughter and cheering before he felt a heavy weight on his back. The stranger turned him around so they were face-to-face, and Asher found himself caught between the stranger’s big, big legs.

Shouts in strange languages followed the cheering, and Asher guessed they could have only been encouragements and suggestions as to what the stranger should do next. Whatever they had suggested, the stranger now raised a fist, and a second later Asher saw nothing but stars as blood filled his mouth.

Another fist followed. And another. And another again.

‘’Finally, you’re awake at last.’’

_It’s a surprise you’re not dead yet. The gods must have taken a pity on you_.

Opening his eyes, Asher found his vision blurred for a second before he saw a large shape moving in front of him. His head pounded as though his heart was placed inside his skull. It made him grit his teeth in pain.

‘’Hey, you’re alive yet?’’

_Who is that?_ Asher tried to get up. Maybe his father’s men have returned. They shouldn’t see him like this, or else they might as well declare him dead to Gregor.

He tried, but he couldn’t. He felt his body covered in more bruises than he would have gotten after a sword training session with his brother Rodrik.

Rodrik was a fine swordsman, which he had always let Asher know with the many strikes of his practice sword that Asher had failed to block. Rodrik was smart, too. Actually, Rodrik was everything that any lord would have wanted in a son and heir. _Gregor_ certainly loved him for his qualities.

And disliked Asher for his.

‘’You won’t be getting up for a while, don’t bother’’, that very same voice said again in a nonchalant manner.

‘’Who… are you…’’, Asher managed to mutter despite his pain and fatigue. He wanted to roll over on his back for a more comfortable position, however his body would not allow it.

‘’Name is Beshka’’, Beshka replied. ‘’You seem to have been in a pretty tough fight. It’s a miracle they didn’t choose to kill you.’’

‘’Thanks for… for your sympathies…’’, Asher grumbled in response. This Beshka person certainly knew how to comfort him.

‘’Not a problem, just know one thing. You’re new here, that’s more obvious than anything. And you’re as highborn as the magisters and masters are in the free cities. You shouldn’t be picking fights with men you cannot win from. Thought they teach their lordling sons basic shit like that in Westeros.’’

They do, Asher wanted to reply. Gregor had told him the same thing many times over every time he had to fetch Asher from similar fights. Once, he even ordered some of his men to beat Asher to the dirt. To teach him a lesson, was his idea.

Little did he know that Asher always got into those fights because of him.

Gregor was a neglectful father like that.

‘’I should be going’’, Asher grunted as he tried to get up. His body ached in protest, and Beshka only shook her head.

‘’You won’t be going anywhere like that’’, she said.

She’s right. It was all Asher could do to roll onto his back at last, although it hurt him the more.

‘’What even happened…?’’, he mumbled, trying to recollect his vague memories.

Beshka shrugged. ‘’No idea. I found you in a narrow alley. I saw you were a highborn, and brought you over here right away.’’

‘’You want a reward for collecting my ass off the streets…?’’, Asher asked, narrowing his eyes in disgust and a slight hint of disbelief.

‘’Do I look like I work for charity?’’, Beshka replied, not interested enough in the hidden insult in Asher’s tone to get into it.

_Well, she certainly doesn’t_. Beshka seemed to be a warrior, in fact- a female warrior at that. Perhaps a sellsword even; Gregor had told Asher of them a couple times. Or rather, yelled at him about them.

_‘’Do you truly want to be for sale?! Would you truly fight anyone’s battles for the right price?! You’re a disgrace, Asher! I thought I had an honorable son that would become a loyal bannerman to Rodrik, or a knight even! All I got instead is a bloody shame!’’_

‘’… Do I look like as if I’ve got a single penny on me?’’, Asher retorted in turn.

‘’No. Whoever beat the shit out of you must have stolen whatever you carried with you. But surely those mustn’t have been the only coins you have brought with you from Westeros?’’

‘’Seven hells, you’re right.’’

Beshka smiled. ‘’I always am.’’

**Author's Note:**

> Phew, my first work posted here! I still need to get the hang of this site, but please leave a comment etc. if you like it! I'm also open for suggestions as well as corrections since English isn't my native language! Thank you in advance!


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